


From the Darkness

by alliejowrites



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Grief/Mourning, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Minor Character Death, Slow Burn, like glacially slow, very slow burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-18
Updated: 2021-03-25
Packaged: 2021-03-26 19:07:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30110619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alliejowrites/pseuds/alliejowrites
Summary: In a universe where the government assigns you a mate based on compatibility testing, Tony is an older omega whose spouse has recently died. Unfortunately, the government only allows for a six-month mourning period before pushing another match. He is matched to Steve, a young alpha with ideas of romance and first love and who is thrilled to be matched with his mate.Both of them are in for a world of hurt.Together, can they find a way out of the darkness?
Relationships: Steve Rogers/Tony Stark
Comments: 35
Kudos: 91





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> This story will deal extensively with grief and loss, hopefully in a sensitive manner. Everyone experiences grief differently, and I am merely exploring one portrayal of it. Please know that however you experience or process grief is normal and valid. And please be warned that the angst will be heavy at times, although I do promise a happy ending.
> 
> Also, please note that Rhodey is Tony's first husband. He dies prior to the start of the fic, but his death will be referenced at times as part of Tony's grieving process. 
> 
> On a completely different note-- yes, there will be plenty of A/B/O smut when we get to that point. :)

Tony Stark was a lucky man.

Born with a silver spoon (or rather, a silver caliper) in hand, he seemed destined for a life of privilege and luxury. But then, those were the easy things to get. Fast cars, expensive suits, the latest gadgets— all it took was a flash of a Visa black and he had added something new to his collection. The real things in life— love so intense it left you dizzy, laughter deep enough to bring tears to your eyes, work at a job that meant something— those were a lot harder to find.

But then, Tony had been lucky there, too.

He had gotten his True Match the day of his college graduation, the imperious envelope marked “Official Government Correspondence” almost buried amidst congratulatory cards. He had opened it with trembling fingers (it had been unseasonably cold for May that day, that was all) and his heart somewhere just south of his throat. 

Rhodey.

His best friend. It wasn’t unheard of for people to be matched to someone they already knew, but it still felt like a shock to see the name of the man he had already come to care for so deeply right there in black and white, destined to be his forever. He was the luckiest man alive.

Tonight, Tony opened another letter. His fingers still trembled and his heart was again somewhere just south of his throat, but there was a pit the size of a boulder in his stomach this time. He didn’t want to read this letter. Didn’t want to know. For just a moment more, as long as he didn’t read the name, Rhodey would still be his alpha. Would still be his. 

His breath caught on a sob that he choked back down. He pulled the glass of whiskey off the side table with a violent grab, the amber liquid nearly sloshing over the sides as he knocked his head back and downed a few more swallows. What was the sense in staying sober? Rhodey wasn’t here to raise a concerned eyebrow and put a gentle hand on the small of his back, a silent suggestion that maybe he didn’t have to get plastered tonight. Another half-choked sob left his lips, and for a moment, he could almost feel the phantom touch of Rhodey’s hand pressing against the curve of his spine. He closed his eyes.

He opened them again, and the emptiness of this new world crashed back into him with all the overwhelming force of a tidal wave, pushing him down, down, down, into the deep, into the dark waters that he could never seem to find a way to swim out of.

Tony shuddered, and unfolded the letter. He gazed down at it for a long minute, and had to blink several times until his vision cleared and the tears dissipated, leaving his eyes only to make their way down his cheeks. 

Steven Grant Rogers.

It was a nice-enough sounding name, he supposed. An ordinary name. For an ordinary person. Tony huffed, crumpling the letter in one hand before tossing it across the room. Anger surged through him then, hot and pulsing white as it lashed through his gut, up his chest, his throat, wanting to come out in a scream. He was clutching the whiskey glass so hard his fingers were white, and he had a vision of throwing it across the room to join the discarded letter. It would hardly be the first glass he had smashed in recent months, as if breaking the things around him would somehow take the place of his shattered heart. 

But he’d rather drown than destroy tonight. He tipped the glass up again and drained it, sinking towards the oblivion that only alcohol could provide as he let his head fall back. His arm dropped down and the glass fell from his hand, landing on the thick carpet with a thunk. Someone would clean it up later. Someone would probably judge him for it, too, but they would know to keep their opinions to themselves. That was why he paid them, wasn’t it?

He closed his eyes but that only made the images flashing before them brighter, dancing on his eyelids like a movie he couldn’t stop seeing. He wanted to claw his eyes out sometimes, as if that would stop it, as if removing his eyes would take the memories with them.

There had been so much glass that night. Shards of it, tiny fragments everywhere. Sometimes he swore he could still feel it scraping at his skin, digging in with needle-like precision, a thousand pin-pricks of pain that pulsed with every beat of his heart.

He woke up covered in sweat, the sounds of a blaring car horn mixed with someone screaming still ringing in his ears more nights than not. 

Fuck. He’d have to try to be normal, wouldn’t he? A normal guy for this very normal Steven Rogers. His head ached with the impending exhaustion of it all, an insistent throbbing pulsing at his temples. He lifted the glass from the carpet and raised it to his lips again, frowning in frustration when he realized it was empty. 

In the space of a blink, he pulled his arm back and threw the glass as hard as he could, shattering it against the opposite wall. He waited for a sense of satisfaction, but he felt nothing but more emptiness. It was an eternal emptiness, swallowing up every other emotion that dipped a toe in its waters.

Sighing heavily, he rubbed a hand over his face. He should sleep. Sleep, and hope to god he didn’t dream. He couldn’t bear to see a smile that was so warm it made him ache, couldn’t bear to hear the echo of laughter he worried he was already forgetting the sound of. And he especially couldn’t bear to feel the warm wet stickiness of blood on his hands as he frantically tried to close wounds and stop the flow. 

Another drink it was, then. And forget the glass this time. He deserved the whole damn bottle.

He swayed woozily as he grabbed the bottle off the table, holding it close to his chest for a moment, like it was the only thing he could count on. And maybe it was. It might promise just one thing— oblivion— but damn, did it deliver every time.

He took a swig, and then another, and then one more for good measure. He leaned back, slowly letting the air out past his lips. He closed his eyes. Something new danced before them this time, but it was no less welcome. Black letters on a crisply starched white paper.

Steven Grant Rogers.

His new alpha. His new “True Match”. His partner for however many miserable nights he had to survive through, only to get to a dawn that was just as painful. Hollow brightness. Cold light.

Tony Stark was a lucky man. 

_Yeah, right._

In truth, he hadn’t been born lucky at all. Not the way society saw it, and certainly not the way his father saw it. It took a few hours after a baby was born for the results of the blood tests determining their status to come back in. Tony always wondered if his father loved him more those first few hours than he did in all the years afterward. 

For all the strides society had made in the name of “progress” over the last century, alpha/omega relations were still in the dark ages. Tony wasn’t just famous because he was a child prodigy and one of the richest people alive, he was famous because he was one of the only omegas to hold a position of immense power. There were many who thought it was an aberration that an omega was CEO of Stark Industries, even if they knew better than to gossip about it too loudly.

For the first few years, Tony hadn’t been much more than a figurehead, anyway. The world had been shocked and the company in a whirlwind at the sudden deaths of Howard and Maria Stark, and having a Stark as the face of the company kept at least a semblance of normalcy. Too bad Tony was the only one available. 

He had partied too much those days, and he and Rhodey had fought too often. He might have been an excellent lover, but he was a horrible husband. Afghanistan changed all that, though. Afghanistan changed everything, for better or for worse. He lost a father figure as the details behind the kidnapping plot unraveled, but he gained the chance to be a better husband, to be what his father had never believed he could be— a true life partner. 

He had also gained an arc reactor in his chest, but that was something he had mostly gotten used to over the past seven years. The blue glow made a nice night light.

Seven years. They had had seven perfect (okay, fine, nothing was perfect, but this had been pretty damn close) years together after Afghanistan. Tony had been only 28 at the time, but it had still felt like a new lease on life. 

And then it was gone. Because at 35, his life was over. All his hopes and dreams and plans for the future snuffed out in one horrific night. 

How was he ever supposed to start again with someone new?

Even contemplating the question felt like a herculean effort. He climbed a mountain each day, but never seemed to make any progress, just slogged through the bare minimum tasks needed to get through the day (and sometimes not even that) and signed whatever papers Pepper put in front of him. She had been practically running the company for the last six months, with how utterly absent he had been from it.

Through the swirling fog of memories and intoxication, he wondered how his new alpha would feel about that. Rhodey had been uniquely supportive of it. Had championed not only Tony’s ability, but his duty, to be the leader Stark Industries needed. He had believed in Tony more than Tony had ever believed in himself, and Tony was adrift in a sea of doubt without him.

Tony’s head lolled back against the chair as he shifted, trying to find a more comfortable position. He could feel himself edging towards sleep. He should really just go to bed. He should. It was a very nice bed, a wonderful bed, with sheets that really _were_ worth all that money, Rhodey, you’re welcome.

It was also the place where Tony felt his absence the most, like a physical weight in the room pressing down on him. He hadn’t touched that side of the bed. Hadn’t let anyone change Rhodey’s pillowcase. He had fought Pepper so hard on even changing the sheets at all, yelled and said the most awful things to her. But she had refused to back down, her voice staying firm even as he saw her jaw tremble, as she kept saying that he could not keep sleeping in sheets that hadn’t been changed in three months. She let Rhodey’s pillowcase stay on, though, and no one was allowed to touch that but Tony.

He wondered now, as he trailed a finger absently over the worn leather of Rhodey’s favorite armchair, just how unreasonable it would be to forbid his new alpha from entering his bedroom.

Oh, well. He had never been much for reasonable.

Sleep tugged at the edges of his consciousness, like warm water lulling him into— if not bliss, then at least oblivion. And that was enough for tonight. The rest of the worries could wait until tomorrow, where he had no doubt they would be prodding him into wakefulness at the first sign of dawn.

His breathing slowed and evened out as he finally drifted off, the phantom touch of arms wrapped around him filling his dreams. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoyed the first chapter! This story will be very long, probably at least 50K, as I already have 30 chapters outlined and it's nowhere near done.
> 
> My goal for the posting schedule is to post one new chapter every week or every other week. Hope you stick around for the journey!


	2. Two

“I just want to make it special, that’s all. You only get your letter once, if all goes well.” Steve tried not to sound too defensive as he gave the risotto a gentle stir, but he could feel his shoulders set in a determined line. 

Bucky was smirking at him from where he was chopping vegetables at the island counter. He was sloppier with it than Steve liked, but he seemed more at peace when he had something to do with his hands. And peace was a hard thing to come by sometimes, particularly for Bucky. 

“Do you not remember how nervous you were when you got your match? You nearly threw up on the letter,” Steve added.

“I like to think I can still make him that nervous,” Natasha said as she entered the kitchen, the smile she gave Bucky wicked enough to make Steve duck his head and blush.

“Oh, don’t worry, ma’am, you do, yes, ma’am,” Bucky replied. But he was grinning, and he leaned in to brush his lips against Nat’s cheek as she walked past. She made a beeline for their wine rack to pick out which red would go best with dinner tonight— as was her usual contribution to Steve cooking for them.

“Is he still refusing to open it until after we’re all sitting down for dinner?” she called over her shoulder.

“I don’t know how he can stand waiting,” Bucky replied. “I offered to open it for him, but—”

“But he said to keep your greasy mitts off it,” Steve finished for him. “And he’s right here. I’m right here.” He gave his head a little shake, and opened the oven just a crack to see how the braised lamb was coming along. Beautiful. He inhaled the scent deeply, a smile lingering on his face.

It was silly, maybe, to still be such a romantic. He had seen the worst of the world, of humanity. War was— nothing like the poetic heroic quest they made it out to be in movies. But then, maybe that was exactly why he should still be a romantic. What had he been fighting for if not for goodness and the people he loved and love itself?

And he had waited so long to get his letter. People could be matched any time after they turned 18, but they had to have an above 90% compatibility rating, based on the extensive personality, lifestyle, interest, and psychological testing that the government made them do. And apparently Steve just wasn’t compatible with anyone.

Until today. His ma had always said that the right person would come along at just the right time. And although Steve wasn’t sure that age 23 with a menial job as a dock worker and four tours of duty to Iraq under his belt was the “right time”, he knew better than to question his ma.

“Earth to Steve. You still on the planet with us?” Nat said, pulling him from his thoughts.

“Nah, he’s on cloud nine. About to become a man, after all this time,” Bucky teased.

Steve’s cheeks warmed as he rolled his eyes. Sure, he might not have had many flings, but that didn’t mean he hadn’t had sex before. And besides, that wasn’t even what getting your True Match was about. It was supposed to be about finding your partner, the person you were meant to share your life with, someone to exhilarate in the joys and carry the burdens alongside you. It was the start of the rest of your life.

Steve let out a slow breath, and tried to ignore the way his heart kept thumping faster in anticipation. He focused instead on pouring the risotto into a serving dish, and then arranging the lamb on a platter.

Nat peeked over his shoulder as he fiddled with the placement of each piece of meat, trying to get them a perfectly equal distance from each other. Would it be too much if he got out a ruler? Yeah, probably. That was probably too much, at least with Nat watching.

“Okay, Romeo, that looks restaurant perfect,” Nat said. “Let’s get it out to the table before I get mean-hungry.”

Bucky shuddered, tossing the last of the diced cucumber into the salad bowl. He shifted the lettuce around with the tongs as he carried the bowl out to the table.

“That doesn’t actually count as tossing the salad,” Steve couldn’t help but correct.

Bucky made a more elaborate gesture with the tongs for show, before setting the bowl on the table.

Their dining room table was small, just big enough for four people, but that suited them just fine. None of them talked about it, but Steve thought they all found comfort in being physically close to each other.

He realized with a sudden start that getting his match would mean moving out of Bucky and Nat’s guest room. They had been kind enough to let him stay with them, and almost never made him feel like a third wheel. Nat gave Bucky a teasing pinch as she muttered something in Russian and gestured to the poorly mixed salad. Steve’s heart clenched with a pang. He would miss this.

But he would be moving on to something better. To what he was meant for.

The envelope sitting just above his plate said so.

Steve could hear his pulse pounding in his ears as Nat poured the wine and he and Bucky got the rest of the food to the table. He knew Nat and Bucky were bantering about something, but he couldn’t quite focus enough to catch the words. He knew them well enough to know they were deliberately giving him a moment, filling their plates with food and starting to eat while he stared at the envelope that would change his life.

He was proud that his hand didn’t shake as he picked it up, and used his knife to slice the envelope open. The white paper felt thick and smooth against his fingertips, fancier than he would have expected, as he unfolded it. He scanned the document for the name.

“Tony Stark,” he said, shocked at how calm and matter-of-fact his voice sounded.

Across the table, both Nat and Bucky froze— Nat with her wine glass in hand and Bucky with a forkful of risotto halfway to his mouth. He shoved it in hastily. “What? Not the Tony Stark?” Bucky said around his mouthful. Nat simply raised an eyebrow at him.

Steve looked back down at the letter. There was the standard black-and-white headshot of his new mate. The image was small, but it was unmistakable. That was Tony Stark, the one who was always all over the news, and even more so of late. “Yes. That Tony Stark.” His voice sounded wooden even to his own ears. His stomach turned over weakly, and he stared at all the food he had made with a sudden feeling of disgust. It had been stupid. So stupid. Love wasn’t any more like the movies than war was.

Nat nodded thoughtfully, took a swallow of her wine, and then nodded again. “Maybe it’ll be okay.”

Bucky turned his head to look at her, eyes wide. “What? Are you insane? He’s an egotistical billionaire with a reputation that not even the best publicist in the world can fix. Not to mention the fact that he’s just lost the love of his life.”

Nat fixed Bucky with a stare, her voice cool as she replied, “It’s not like there’s anything Steve can do about it, so how, exactly, does it help to get all worked up over it? Perhaps a little false bravado would get the job done better.”

“I… I could try to appeal it… I could—” Steve was staring down at the letter, but the words swam before his eyes.

“No. You can’t,” Nat said, setting her glass down on the table. “You know how impossible and unlikely an appeal is, it would be months of exhausting effort for nothing. Not to mention the fines and tax penalties they’d throw at you.”

Steve wasn’t afraid of hard, seemingly futile work, but he knew he couldn’t afford the legal costs on top of the tax penalties. And he wouldn’t ask Nat and Bucky for money, not when he knew they didn’t have any to spare.

He set the letter down next to him and started serving himself some salad, just for something to do with his hands. His stomach twisted like writhing snakes, every ounce of excited adrenaline having converted itself to heavy dread.

Bucky and Nat both resumed eating quietly, slowly. God, he had even lit candles on the table tonight, he was so stupid.

“Alexa, play music for feeling sad and disappointed,” Nat said.

Bucky shot her a look.

She shrugged. “What? It’s mood music.”

Alexa replied, “Playing Amazon Music playlist ‘I’m Sad’.” The opening notes of “Candle in the Wind” echoed from the speaker, and Steve couldn’t help but let out a wet laugh.

He scrubbed a hand over his face before setting both hands flat on the table and taking a deep breath. “Okay. I can do this.”

“You’ve certainly faced worse,” Bucky pointed out. Steve wasn’t sure if that was helpful or not.

Steve took another breath, and continued, “The government system has been going for decades, and there’s a reason it’s set up this way. It works well. We just have to do our best, and trust that it’s going to work out.” It has to.

“Atta boy, soldier,” Nat said with a nod. She was humming along to Elton John’s crooning every once in awhile, not that she wouldn’t fight them if either Steve or Bucky said anything about it. “Are you going to call him?”

Steve’s eyes went wide. He had had a whole plan, earlier, before… It was going to be romantic. Something simple but memorable. That all seemed rather silly now. Still, it was his role as the alpha to reach out first and arrange a meeting. “Yeah, yeah, I’m just gonna…” He grabbed the letter off the table and hurried towards his room, ignoring Nat’s shouted protest after him of “I didn’t mean right this second!”

He closed his bedroom door and rested his forehead against it, closing his eyes as he tried to breathe slowly, counting each breath and focusing on the way the air felt moving in and out of his lungs. It helped, after awhile, or at least made him feel slightly less like he was going to scream or throw up.

He moved to the bed and sat on the edge. He punched the numbers from the letter into his phone, but had to do another round of deep breathing before he could actually compose a text.

  
_Steve: Hello. Is this Tony Stark?_

_Tony: Who is this and how did you get this number?_

_Tony: No, forget it, don’t answer that. Just lose the number._

_Tony: And don’t think I can’t hack your phone and make all kinds of problems for you if you don’t._

  
Heaven help him, he was already screwing this up. 

  
_Steve: I’m sorry, I should have led with an introduction. This is Steve Rogers._

_Steve: Your mate._

_Steve: New mate._

  
And god, if it didn’t just go from bad to worse. He fell back on the bed and clutched his phone to his chest, just above where it felt like his heart was about to pound right through his ribs. He had dreamed about telling someone he was their mate for so long that the words had just blurted out, but god, that was dumb, so dumb. It was doubtful that Tony wanted to hear those words in reference to someone who wasn’t his husband— late husband— no matter how true they were.

Steve lay there on the bed for a long time, just watching the ceiling fan slowly circle. They couldn’t afford air conditioning, so the fans ran most of the time in summer. Somewhere along the way, he started counting the revolutions. 127, 128, 129…

His phone buzzed on his chest, startling him into half-sitting up. 

  
_Tony: You need to work on your introduction skills._

_Tony: I have to go to a lot of social events, and that’s going to be embarrassing._

  
Well, that was something, at least. A start. Steve sat up fully, and scooted back until he was resting against the headboard.

_Steve: I assure you I usually comport myself better in person. I’m not great with technology._

  
Steve thunked his head against the headboard. Right, because that was the thing to say to the world’s foremost tech genius.

  
_Tony: Well, aren’t we just the perfect match?_

_Tony: Also, who uses the word “comport” in everyday conversation? Is that still a thing?_

_Steve: Apologies for trying to take this seriously._

_Tony: Good god, you get riled up easily. You’re one of those perpetual frowners, aren’t you? With the little judgmental crease right between your eyes?_

_Tony: Let me guess, you’re doing it now._

_Steve: This isn’t how this is supposed to go._

_Tony: Oh, you think? I’m supposed to be married to the man I’m in love with, or at least be allowed to mourn him, my ACTUAL mate, not cater to some dumb kid who thinks he can swan in here and alpha me up. None of this is how my life is fucking supposed to go._

  
Steve swallowed hard, tears stinging at the corners of his eyes as he squeezed the phone tightly. He wanted to punch something, and he had a feeling he’d be spending tonight in the gym instead of his bed. He should have thought all this through more carefully instead of just jumping in. This wasn’t just hard, it was impossible. Of course Tony didn’t want him, and not just because he was some dumb kid from Brooklyn. Tony didn’t want anything except the man he couldn’t have. It would be impossible to fill those shoes.

But then, you’ve never shied away from the impossible before, he told himself, although he thought the voice in his head sounded a little like Bucky.

He took a breath, and his hands were no longer trembling as he typed the next message.

  
_Steve: I’m sorry. That was insensitive of me. I can’t begin to imagine how difficult this is for you._

  
It was several minutes before Tony replied, during which time Steve determinedly did not stare at the clock on his phone and will a message to come through.

  
_Tony: Sorry. I’ve been told I have an anger management problem sometimes._

_Steve: You should get a punching bag. Works for me._

_Tony: I’ll keep that in mind._

_Steve: Is it too soon to ask to meet?_

_Tony: Nah, it’s what we’re supposed to do, right?_

  
The government was strict about its timeline for matches. A pair had thirty days upon receipt of their letters to make the marriage official, whether they did it with a big ceremony or just went to the courthouse. Steve had never considered it a problem before, but he realized now that it didn’t leave them a lot of time to ease into this.

  
_Steve: Yeah. Right. Where would you like to meet?_

_Tony: My place. Only way to be sure we’ll avoid the paparazzi._

  
And damn, there was a whole other layer of stress Steve hadn’t even considered yet. He swallowed, and gave his head a little shake. He wouldn’t consider it now, either. Those would be thoughts for later, and probably with Nat’s help. She was the best of them at practical advice.

  
_Steve: Okay, great. I can do that._

_Tony: Tomorrow, 10AM, work for you? I’ll have brunch ordered or something._

_Steve: I can make that work. Brunch would be great._

_Tony: Then it’s set. Have a good night, Steve. Go easy on that punching bag._

_Steve: Goodnight, Tony._

  
There were a thousand other things Steve wanted to say, needed to say, but he couldn’t find the words for any of them, as if they were all floating around in his head just out of reach. He sighed heavily, and let his eyes fall closed. In a moment, he’d have to go out and try to talk to Bucky and Nat, who he was sure were only barely restraining themselves from barging into his room. But for now, he wanted to do nothing more than breathe and close his eyes and pretend the world was as simple as it had been only a few hours ago.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Again, posting schedule is every week or every other week. The chapters will generally alternate between Steve and Tony POVs.


	3. Three

Pepper had been fluttering around him like an anxious hummingbird for the past 30 minutes. It had only taken Tony 30 seconds to be annoyed by it. She kept gently but firmly moving him between the bedroom and the bathroom, running him through personal hygiene routines that he neglected more mornings than not. Apparently it was important to make a good impression with the new husband you had less than zero interest in, despite the fact that neither of you had any choice in marrying each other anyway.

“You know he has to marry me whether I have dragon breath or not, right?” Tony said. 

“That’s no excuse for not looking your best, or at least looking like something resembling a human being.” Pepper patted his freshly trimmed beard with a soft towel, and then put her hands on his upper arms to steer him back to the bedroom.

Tony rolled his eyes at the outfit she had picked out for him, but he didn’t have the energy to form a protest. He already felt exhausted by this day, and it had barely even started. 

And he still had the worst part to go.

“Put those on—” She pointed to the dress shirt, pants, and jacket laid out neatly at the end of the bed. “While I decide on a pair of shoes.”

“Pep, I’m in my own home and I’m not going outside, I don’t need to wear shoes.” But she had already marched off into his walk-in closet as if she couldn’t hear a word he was saying. “This is not a date,” he called after her, for good measure.

He sighed, and picked up the navy pants. He was only wearing a pair of socks and boxer-briefs— Pepper being the only person in the world he still allowed to see him that way, mostly because she treated it as perfunctorily and professionally as she did everything else to do with him. It was easy to slip the pants on. The crisp white dress shirt followed, and he was just sliding into the matching navy jacket when Pepper emerged from the closet. She had a pair of shoes in one hand, something small clutched in the other, and a look on her face that said this was not a battle he would win. 

“Come on, I did the suit thing— can’t we compromise on the shoes?” he tried.

“The compromise is that I’m not making you wear a tie.” Her smile was firm but not unkind as she set the shoes down next to him and opened her other hand, revealing a set of silver cuff links. “Something classy,” she murmured.

“He’s a preschooler. He probably doesn’t even own cuff links, let alone is able to recognize expensive ones. And again, this is not a date.” But he held his wrists out for her to put them on. 

“It’s going to be fine, you know. He’ll like you.” She said it in that soft, too-casual tone that Tony knew meant she was trying to deliver important information without upsetting him.

As usual, it didn’t work.

“What? Why the fuck do I care if he likes me?” he sputtered. “Not that he won’t like me, because, let’s face it, I’m a very likable person, possibly the most likable person in the Tri-State Area if you don’t count Beyonce.”

“He’ll like you. If you just let him get to know you.” She fastened the second cuff link and gave the inside of his wrist a tap, her eyes far too serious and knowing as she gazed at him. He could almost hear what she was thinking. If you just give this a chance.

The sarcastic retort he had prepared died on his lips. The corners of his eyes prickled with tears, and he felt humiliation and shame twist hot in his gut. It didn’t matter that she had seen him cry more times than he could count by this point; he still hated it. “I don’t want this to work,” he whispered. “If it works, then— then that means—” His gaze flitted around the room, searching for something, and finally landing on a spot just above her left shoulder. “I’m not ready to move on.”

“I know,” she replied softly, her hand shifting to wrap fully around his wrist, squeezing gently. An anchor. A reminder that he wasn’t floating away into nothingness, like he did so often in his nightmares. “Just breathe.”

It was then that he realized he had been holding his breath, and he let it out with a choking gasp as his heart raced. She waited patiently for him to settle himself, just holding his wrist, like it was no big deal. Like she believed he would be able to settle himself, he just needed to be given the time to do it.

She had always believed in him more than he had ever believed in himself. Rhodey, too. He had seen Tony as something more than what he was, and some days Tony believed that it was the force of that belief that had propelled him to reach those expectations.

After what felt like an eternity but was probably only a couple of minutes, his breathing evened out and he felt in control of himself again. Or at least as in control as he ever felt these days, which probably wasn’t saying much. Pepper seemed to sense it and released his wrist, gesturing to the shoes beside him on the floor. “Last step, and you’ll be ready.”

He was pretty sure she knew that was a lie as much as he did, but he appreciated her saying it anyway.

  
By the time he made it out to the dining room, he felt marginally more in control of himself. The suit did help, in a way. Easier to put on a facade when he was all dressed up. He wondered belatedly if that had been part of Pepper’s strategy. 

An elaborate brunch was laid out on the dining room table, with enough food to feed ten alphas in the middle of their rut, from his favorite French restaurant. They didn’t normally deliver, but they had made an exception for Tony Stark.

He sneaked a strawberry into his mouth and was just about to reach for a mini-muffin when JARVIS intoned, “Sir, Mr. Rogers has entered the elevator and is on his way up.” 

Tony abandoned the mini-muffin, his stomach suddenly rolling unpleasantly. “Alright, showtime,” he muttered, rubbing his hands together as he moved towards the foyer.

He had just remembered to force a smile onto his face when the elevator doors dinged open and out stepped—

“Wow, that is a lot of plaid,” Tony blurted. “Did you come from some kinda time capsule from the 90s?”

Steve stopped in his tracks, two steps into the foyer. A confused frown, not unlike a kicked puppy, crossed his face. “I— What? No, I just… like plaid.” He looked down at the plaid button-up he was wearing and fingered the hem, cheeks turning a mottled pink. 

It wasn’t the worst look Tony had seen, and at least the khaki pants he had paired with the plaid— plaid, really?— shirt fit him decently enough. 

Steve looked up at Tony again, seeming to take him in for the first time, and swallowed. “Wow. I… believe I have seriously underdressed.”

He also looked about as miserable as a cornered rabbit. Tony raised his hands in a gesture that he hoped communicated I promise I’m not as much of an asshole as I seem. “Hey, no, don’t worry about it. I told Pepper this was too dressy anyway, I told her she was overthinking it.” He managed another smile as he toed off his shoes and shrugged off his jacket, draping it carelessly over the side table. “There. That’s better.” He kept moving, hands nervous and fidgety, as he gestured for Steve to follow him. “Come in, there’s so much food I don’t even know what we’re going to do with it all, probably have to donate it somewhere.”

“Thank you. You have a lovely home,” Steve replied stiffly.

At least he was polite. Tony couldn’t stand alphas who thought their designation gave them the right to boss people around.

“You’ve hardly seen it. At least let me show off the view before you start in with the compliments.” Banter. Small talk. It was fine, Tony could do this. He had done that for years, practically since birth, he could do it in his sleep. This was going to be fine.

As Tony led Steve through the rooms on the first floor, he kept up a steady stream of babble, explaining about the gadgets and the art that Pepper had picked out and the furniture that had been shipped from all over the world. And, okay, maybe he should let his Alpha get a word in edgewise, but then again, maybe he didn’t want to. It was so much easier to just hear himself talk— more familiar, at least— and Tony wasn’t ready to hear all the latest and greatest opinions of his new Alpha. He wasn’t ready to find out just how fucked he was going to be.

Steve kept looking around with increasingly wide eyes— impossibly wide, almost. And god, did anyone have eyes that naturally blue? “Those have to be color contacts,” Tony blurted, making Steve frown and give him the confused puppy look again.

“Colored… contacts?” Tony could see him trying so hard to follow the thread of conversation that there was practically smoke pouring out of his ears. “What does that have to do with floor-to-ceiling privacy glass?”

Tony gave him a patient smile— and really, he could be so patient sometimes, even though no one believed him, not even Pepper. “Your eyes. Are they really that blue?”

And nothing could have surprised Tony more than the honest-to-god blush he saw flooding Steve’s cheeks and creeping down his neck, disappearing beneath his shirt.

“I— yes. They are,” Steve replied, with a smile that Tony wasn’t sure was shyness or embarrassment. Both? Steve scrubbed a hand over the back of his head. Definitely both. 

“Oh. They’re— very nice.” And suddenly something sour flipped over in his stomach, twisting almost painfully. What the hell was he doing admiring someone else’s eyes? Then again, they were just eyes. Very nice eyes. Who wouldn’t admire them? It didn’t mean anything, didn’t mean he was forgetting— 

Tony snapped his mouth shut, and gave Steve a smile that even pained him with how forced it was. “Forget the tour; let’s eat. I invited you over for brunch, didn’t I?” He didn’t give Steve a chance to respond before turning sharply on his heel and making his way back to the dining room. After a moment, he heard Steve following him.

“Well, load up,” Tony said as he gestured to the food. “And don’t miss out on the chocolate-covered strawberries. It’s what you’re here for, isn’t it? A romantic brunch with your brand new omega.”

Bitter, thy name is Tony Stark.

Sometimes he really hated how much of an asshole he was.

Steve visibly winced, which was as annoying as it was almost endearing. Almost. “I— that’s not— I didn’t come here with any sort of expectations, Tony.” And, okay, maybe Steve could get a little feisty, too, because there was definitely an edge to his last words there. Which was good. Tony could work with feisty. Sad or romantic or puppy eyes— abso-fucking-lutely no. But feisty? He could match that serve with his eyes closed.

“Oh, you didn’t, huh? You’re not here checking out your new digs and wondering which of the surfaces you want to bend me over first? Because I hope you know I’m not moving to whatever barely-above-a-college-dorm apartment you live in.”

  
“That’s not—“

  
“ _Or_ bending over for you, for that matter, no matter what the government says. I’ve told them to suck my dick over matters a lot more important than this, and I have no problem telling you the same.”

  
“Can we just—“

  
Tony could see Steve’s hands curling into fists at his sides but he ignored it, plowing on instead, like a one-track missile bent on his own destruction. Rhodey had always said he had an unfortunate knack for being the dumbest genius he knew. 

  
“And another thing. Don’t expect me to hand the company over to you, _my_ company, that I worked very hard on, thank you very much, and that doesn’t need an Alpha’s clumsily large hands all over it.”

  
Tony sucked in a quick breath, mouth still open to continue his tirade, when Steve burst in with, “Will you let me _talk_? Please?”

  
Tony snapped his mouth shut. It wasn’t the almost-command that did it, or even the way there were splotches of angry red on Steve’s cheeks. It was that stupid “please”, as if he actually cared about getting Tony’s buy-in.

  
It was probably a manipulative trick of some sort. 

  
Still, Tony shut up anyway, because he had lost the thread of his rant at this point, and it seemed like far too much effort to go looking for it again. He crossed his arms over his chest and gave Steve a nod, which was as much of an assent as he could manage. He hoped the surly look on his face disabused Steve of any notion that this was submission. 

  
Steve let out his breath in a whoosh of air, as if he was surprised Tony had actually acquiesced. He swallowed as he slowly unclenched his hands. He clearly hadn’t thought of what he wanted to say, now that he had the floor. Typical blustering Alpha. 

  
Tony was very proud of himself for not rolling his eyes. 

  
When Steve finally spoke, his voice came out softer than Tony had expected, more subdued. “This isn’t important to you?”

  
“ _That’s_ what you landed on out of all of this? That was the big takeaway?” Tony snapped back, throwing his hands up. “No, of course it isn’t important to me.”

  
“Of course,” Steve echoed, voice brittle. He swallowed again, and there was a look of determination on his face, as if he was facing down enemy lines. “Well. It’s very important to me.”

  
Something about the earnestness with which it was said, the way his eyes went all sincere and liquid— and who even _said_ things like that and meant them anyway?— something about it hit Tony like a freight train. Or a missile. A self-destructive missile of shame and self-loathing and regret, detonating in 3, 2...

  
Shit. He was _such_ an asshole. 

  
So much for Rhodey making him a better man. 

  
He let out a bitter, wet laugh at that, which seemed to startle Steve as much as it startled himself. 

  
Steve’s hands curled back into tight fists, and he walked out of the room. 

  
A moment later, Tony heard a door slam. 

  
Shit, shit, fucking hell, damn it, _shit_.

  
This had to be some kind of record for fastest-to-drive-your-new-Alpha-away. Maybe they would give him a medal. Tony ran a hand through his hair, starting to pace as his pulse pounded in his ears, then went higher to throb in his temples. 

  
_The left_. The thought came through with a sudden burst of clarity. The door slamming had come from the left, which meant it wasn’t the front door, it was— the bathroom door. 

  
“Oh, thank god,” Tony breathed, coming to a stop mid-pace and tapping his fingers against the arc reactor. It was a nervous habit he thought he had rid himself of years ago. Guess it stuck around as thoroughly as his bad attitude. 

  
But it wasn’t too late to fix this. To salvage something that could be workable, to make it something that would be— well, livable felt like too hopeful a word, but— survivable. 

  
He sent a quick emergency text to Pepper, requesting a flower delivery. Was there a bouquet that said “sorry I’m an insubordinate omega who likes to pick fights and fuck up perfectly good brunches?”

  
And then, because his hands were shaking, he went over to the bar and poured himself a drink. The pitcher of mimosas on the brunch table looked way too festive, and besides, he needed something stronger. After a moment's hesitation, he poured a glass of whiskey for Steve, too, because hey, why not? He had yet to meet a problem that alcohol couldn’t fuck up more. 

  
He sat down heavily in one of the dining room chairs, and didn’t so much sip at his whiskey as almost chug it. God, these chairs were uncomfortable. Who had picked them out, anyway? This was why he always ate in the living room, and Pepper needed to stop lecturing him about it. 

  
Tony was fairly certain they had both aged ten years by the time he heard the click of the bathroom door opening. 

  
He stood up as Steve walked out, his mouth opening with some babbling apology. Shit, why hadn’t he spent any time thinking of what to say?

  
But Steve held up a hand, and for once, Tony listened, and shut his mouth. Listening being the better part of valor, or whatever. 

  
“I can’t imagine how hard this must all be for you, Tony,” Steve started, with the calm air of someone who had practiced a speech. Yep, he had definitely rehearsed in front of the bathroom mirror, Tony was sure of it. “I don’t mean to put pressure on you, and I’m not _going_ to put pressure on you. I’m just trying to make this the best it can be, for both of us. This... isn’t how I expected my matching to go, either.”

  
“Yeah. Not exactly every guy’s dream to end up with a widower, huh?” Although there was a bit of warmth undercutting the edge of Tony’s usual sarcasm this time. He couldn’t bring himself to do anything less, not when Steve was standing there looking at him like _he_ was the one who should drop to his knees and beg for forgiveness, not Tony. 

  
Steve gave him a smile that was nothing but pained.

  
“I think fast and talk even faster; tends to create problems when the brain-to-mouth filter gets laggy,” Tony blurted. An offering, of sorts. Not quite an apology, perhaps, but at least apology-adjacent. 

  
“Good to know,” Steve replied, and it didn’t sound entirely strained or pained or a hundred other things that Tony would expect him to be feeling right now. It sounded almost... gentle, which was definitely not something Tony wanted to think about now, or ever, really. 

  
“Mini-muffins!” 

  
Steve raised an eyebrow at him. “I’m... sorry?” 

  
Tony gestured to the very full brunch table. “We have mini-muffins. Everyone loves mini-muffins, probably because it feels like the calories don’t count, and because we’re biologically engineered to have a soft spot for tiny things. You know, so we don’t murder our young when they won’t stop crying.”

  
“Right,” Steve said after a moment’s delay. But he was smiling, which was a positive sign, definitely positive, Tony was totally the king of salvaging clusterfucks of your own making. “I would enjoy a mini-muffin.” He moved over to the table and picked up one of the small porcelain plates, and started putting an assortment of food on it. 

  
“Oh! And I made you a drink.” Tony moved to grab it from its spot where he had left it on the table, pleased to see the ice was only a little melted. He handed it to Steve. 

  
“Thank you. Are you going to eat something?” Steve asked, still in that gentle tone, like Tony was something fragile that might break. Tony felt his feathers ruffle at the implication, but that was a fight for tomorrow. Probably. Hopefully. 

  
“Nah, I’m not hungry,” he replied. And then thought better of it. It would probably look rude or at the very least odd to not eat at his own damn brunch. “Actually, I will eat.” He filled a plate with food, then gestured with a tilt of his head to the open end of the dining table. 

  
He took a seat, and started picking at his food in a manner that he hoped resembled actual eating. His stomach still felt heavy as lead, and his mouth was far too dry, no matter how many Jack-and-cokes he had. “And great, now it’s time for the awkward small talk.”

  
Steve froze halfway to sitting down, as if worried he had done something wrong or that there was something he needed to fix. Probably a little old lady somewhere that needed help crossing the street. Tony didn’t quite contain the eye roll. 

  
He motioned with his hand for Steve to sit, which Steve did so with another pained smile. The guy really needed a laxative or something. That, or an acting class. 

  
“It doesn’t have to be awkward,” Steve offered, and Tony knew an out when he was given one. He tended to ignore them in favor of acting on his impulses and digging himself deeper into whatever hole he had fallen into, but he _was_ capable of recognizing them. 

  
“Where did you go to school? What are your parents like? Any siblings? What do you want to be when you grow up?” Tony said the last one with a little more vehemence than even he had intended, and he saw Steve wince. Great job with this whole apology plan, Tones. Way to throw it in the guy’s face that he’s laughably younger than you. “Wait, no, don’t answer those. Let me try again.” Tony licked his lips. Come on, sincerity. Come out and play for a bit. “Tell me about what matters most to you.”

  
The surprise in Steve’s eyes echoed what Tony felt. It was a genuine question, asked without a hint of sarcasm. 

  
“My two best friends. Nat and Bucky. We’ve— been through a lot together.” Steve cleared his throat, like he was debating saying more, and looking like a man about to take a plunge into the deep end of the pool in the middle of winter. “Special Forces.”

  
Tony’s gaze softened at that. Pepper had prepared a whole dossier on his new mate, but of course he hadn’t read a word of it. Hadn’t even cracked the cover. 

  
“Iraq?” he asked, food forgotten as he gave Steve his full attention. 

  
“Afghanistan, mostly. Four tours.” 

  
Steve appeared to be gripping his fork tightly, and Tony knew that look. The grip on reality. As long as you were holding onto something solid, you wouldn’t slip under to the nightmares. 

  
It only sometimes worked. 

  
“Thank you for your service,” Tony replied, his voice nothing but sincerity. 

  
_Rhodey would have liked him._

  
The thought hit him with sudden, painful clarity. He grimaced, fighting an upwelling of tears that stung at his eyes. Fuck. He was _not_ going to cry in front of some damn baby-faced Alpha. 

  
Tony cleared his throat, a snarky remark ready on his tongue before he was interrupted by the ringing of the doorbell. Saved by the bell, indeed. 

  
“Go get the door. It’s for you,” he said instead. 

  
Steve frowned in confusion, but after a moment's hesitation, moved to get the door. Which that— Tony let out a whoosh of breath. He hadn’t realized it was a test until he had already given it. He had phrased something as an order, and Steve hadn’t flipped out or even protested.

  
At least not yet. The Alpha was probably just trying to be on his best behavior. 

  
Steve returned to the room with a giant bouquet of red and yellow roses— which, really, Pep? Roses? Couldn’t have gone with something _l_ _ess_ subtle?— looking more confused than ever. 

  
“There should be a card,” Tony said. Right. Because that wasn’t awkward. Sitting here while your Alpha reads a card that was written for him by your assistant. 

  
The card didn’t seem to help with Steve’s confusion at all, which Tony was beginning to call Steve’s lost puppy face. Steve looked from the card to Tony to the card and finally back to Tony again. 

  
“You got me apology flowers.” It wasn’t a question, but it wasn’t quite a statement, either. It was adrift somewhere in lost puppy land. 

  
“I would’ve gotten you apology lingerie, but I didn’t know your size.”

  
And good god. Steve actually blushed at that, the tips of his ears going crimson. Tony almost laughed. 

  
“They’re very nice, thank you. Look, Tony, about earlier...“ Steve was clutching the flowers like he was afraid he might drop them.

  
Like they were something precious. 

  
Tony felt that heavy leaden weight twist into leaden knots in his belly. “Right, well, I’ve got a meeting in a few. Tech world never sleeps, and all that. Plus the time zone differences alone make it impossible to stick to a normal schedule. But it’s been great meeting you.” He gave Steve his biggest cheery fake smile as he held out his hand. 

  
And no, it definitely wasn’t weird to shake his new Alpha’s hand, fuck you very much. 

  
Steve jerked his head as if he had whiplash— which, to be fair, was a frequent side effect of Tony’s moods— but he shifted the flowers to one arm, and grasped Tony’s hand. His touch was warm, strong without being obnoxiously dominant. Tony sucked in a quick breath before letting go. 

  
“Thank you for having me over, Tony. And for the flowers.” There it was again. That annoying sincerity that Tony was convinced had to be fake somehow. No one was that earnest. 

  
“Yeah, of course.” He didn’t add that it was what they were contractually obligated to do, and that they wouldn’t have met at all if the government hadn’t forced them. Which he supposed was a win, in the keep-your-mouth-shut-and-don’t-piss-off-your-Alpha game. Small victories. 

  
He herded Steve towards the door. “Have a great rest of your day,” he said, and god he hoped it sounded at least halfway sincere. 

  
“You too, Tony,” Steve added after a pause. He looked like he wanted to say more, but instead he just swallowed, looked down at the flowers, and gave Tony one last smile before stepping into the elevator. 

  
“Fucking _roses_ ,” Tony groaned, after the elevator doors had slid shut. He was going to have to have Words with Pepper. Maybe even send a memo. 

  
“JARVIS?”

  
“I’m here, sir.” And damn, if that wasn’t the best thing he had heard all day. 

  
“Send someone to get rid of this food, will you? Donate it somewhere, anywhere, I don’t care. I just want it gone. Fast as possible.” He grabbed the bottle of whiskey— and, after a moment’s hesitation, an actual glass— and made his way back to the elevator. This little game had taken too much of his time today. Time to get back to work, see if he could make any progress on his latest nanocellular project. “And JARVIS? Crank the AC/DC.”

  
Maybe if he got it loud enough, it would drown out the swirl of thoughts he was most definitely going to spend the rest of the day _not_ thinking about.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Updates will definitely not always come this fast, but I was on a writing high today and was too excited not to post. Like Tony, I have poor impulse control.


	4. Four

Steve hadn’t known three days could feel like such an eternity. 

  
Three days was how long it had been since he had talked to Tony. Three days since the brunch that had gone so— horribly? wonderfully? Steve wasn’t sure what to make of it— any of it. 

  
But he knew he liked the flowers. 

  
They were sitting in a vase on the dining room table, and Bucky had only made fun of him a little bit before Nat kicked him under the table. They both had been eager to hear how the brunch had gone, and Steve had done his best to recount the various ups and downs. They had reassured him that he had done his best in a very difficult situation, done great, really, but he wasn’t so sure of that. 

  
Case in point, the fact that Tony hadn’t spoken to him at all since. 

  
Steve knew he could reach out first, and it wasn’t that he was opposed to it, not really, but he had wanted to give Tony some space. Breathing room seemed important, and Steve wanted Tony to have as much of it as he needed. And then, as the hours dragged on, it seemed more and more awkward to be the one to initiate things. 

  
Shit, he was a horrible Alpha. 

  
Steve tossed his phone down onto the bed beside him, tired of staring at a screen and hoping for a notification to pop up. He should really be sleeping, considering it was almost three in the morning. The three beers he had consumed were supposed to help with that (Bucky had promised they would), but so far the buzz hadn’t been enough to overcome his anxiety. He wondered if Tony was sleeping or not. 

  
Only one way to find out. 

  
Reaching for his phone, Steve sent a text before he could even think about it. 

  
_Steve: Are you up?_

  
The response back was almost immediate. 

  
_Tony: Apparently you are._   
_Tony: And I’m always up._

  
Steve felt his stomach do a happy flip, which was stupid, really, because Tony hadn’t even said anything of note. It was hardly a warm greeting. Maybe it was part of the bonding that he would get such fluttery warm feelings just at seeing his omega’s name pop up. 

  
_Steve: No one’s always up._

  
_Tony: I average 2-4 hours of sleep a night. Yes, everyone’s concerned. No, I don’t need you to “fix it”._

  
_Steve: That does sound concerning, though._

  
_Tony: We’re not discussing it._

  
Great. This conversation was off to much the same start as all the rest of their interactions had gone. Steve worried at his lower lip. He could do this. He had been Special Forces in Afghanistan; he could diffuse a tense conversation. 

  
_Steve: Okay. We won’t talk about it._

  
_Tony: Thank you._   
_Tony: I’m a little suspicious but thank you nonetheless._

_Steve: I’m serious, Tony. If you say you don’t want to talk about something, we won’t talk about it._   
_Steve: That goes for everything._

_Tony: Then… thanks. I appreciate that._   
_Tony: So what **are** you doing up? Isn’t it a little past your bedtime?_

_Steve: I was thinking about you._   
_Steve: Wait, no, not like that._   
_Steve: That sounded like a come-on, which is not what I meant._

_Tony: Then what did you mean?_

_Steve: I don’t know._

_Tony: You don’t know, or you don’t want to talk about it?_

_Steve took a breath and exhaled it slowly. Maybe it was the alcohol, maybe it was the late hour, but something made him feel like being honest._

_Steve: I was thinking about how badly I screwed up our brunch._

_Tony: What? You didn’t screw it up._   
_Tony: **I** screwed it up._   
_Tony: You should get used to that._   
_Tony: I’m kind of known for being a perpetual screw-up._   
_Tony: Or haven’t you read the tabloids?_

_Steve: I don’t read trash._

_Tony: What do you read, then?_

_Steve: Mostly books on history, biographies, military history._

_Tony: Of course you read military history. Probably sit in a straight-backed chair and drink a glass of bourbon while you do._

_Steve: For someone who doesn’t like being pigeonholed by the media, you have a real penchant for stereotypes._

_Tony: Touche._   
_Tony: Tell something unique about you, then. Something that breaks the big bad Alpha mold._

_Steve: I like to paint. Watercolors, mostly._

_Tony: I’ll admit I did not see that coming._   
_Tony: Are you any good?_

_Steve: Nah, it’s just a hobby._

_Tony: Still. I’d like to see it sometime. I know a thing or two about art._   
_Tony: Not as much as Pepper, but still._   
_Tony: I know to appreciate whatever she purchases, so that’s something._

Steve was surprised that he felt a pang of jealousy at the mention of someone else. Of course he expected Tony to have friends, maybe even past lovers, but… there was something about the casual way he threw her name in, like they were close. Like they were close in a way Steve worried he and Tony would never be.

_Steve: Who’s Pepper?_

_Tony: My assistant._   
_Tony: And then some._

_Steve: Ah. I see._

Steve’s stomach twisted sharply. So he had guessed right after all. He wasn’t sure which was worse— knowing that Tony was capable of intimate bonds, or knowing that he didn’t want that with Steve.

“Patience,” he muttered. They had barely met. Bonding wasn’t like the fairy tales or Hollywood movies, and he knew that. He did know it. It was just hard to feel it sometimes.

In truth, it was hard to let go of the dream he had had. He had wanted so badly to get a mate, had envisioned the whirlwind courtship and romantic dates, followed by a tasteful yet elegant wedding (mostly planned by Nat). 

  
A wedding. Shit. What were they going to do about that?

  
The government required a formal ceremony to make the match official, but it didn’t have to be elaborate. The courthouse was open every day of the week for walk-in ceremonies. 

  
Steve had never wanted a courthouse wedding. 

_Steve: What do you want to do for the wedding?_

_Tony: Well, hello there change of topic._

  
_Steve: It’s important. We need to discuss it._

  
_Tony: Yeah, yeah, we’ve got thirty days to make it official or Uncle Sam gets all bent out of shape._   
_Tony: Let me guess, you want some big elaborate party.  
_ _Tony: Something where you can show off your new omega, brag about how you’re the one to bag Tony Stark._

  
_Steve: I didn’t say that._   
_Steve: And that's not what a wedding is about, anyway._

  
_Tony: What is it about, then?_

  
_Steve: Forging your life with someone else’s. Starting a journey with them. Lifelong commitment._

  
_Tony: Yeah, cause that lifelong part worked out so well for my last wedding._

  
_Steve: It’s an ideal. Doesn’t mean it always happens._   
_Steve: But that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t still strive for it._

  
_Tony: I don’t want to strive for anything._   
_Tony: Fuck, that sounds depressed, ignore that._

  
_Steve: Is this another thing we’re not going to talk about?_

  
_Tony: Add it to the list._

  
_Steve: This is going to be a long list, isn’t it?_

  
_Tony: I’m a man of both many and few words._

_Steve: Well, we could use some more words about the wedding._

_Tony: What do you want me to say, Steve? Huh?_   
_Tony: That I think it’s all fine and dandy? That a big blowout sounds great? That I can’t wait to walk down the aisle with you?_

Steve sucked in a breath, tears stinging at his eyes. He knew how Tony felt about him, about their match. He _knew_ it, but it still ached to hear it, still ripped a hole open in his chest. He swallowed, the motion painful as his throat felt thick. He needed to think.

He needed to act like an Alpha. 

His omega was hurting and upset, and even though it wasn’t Steve’s fault, that didn’t mean Steve couldn’t still try to fix it.

He wiped hastily at his cheeks with the back of his hand, and took another breath.

_Steve: It’s okay. We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to. We just need to work out the necessary logistics, that’s all. Can you do that for me?_

_Tony: Don’t fucking try to Dom me._   
_Tony: You might be my Alpha, but you are **not** my Dom._

Shit. _Shit_. Steve threw the phone down onto the bed, a ragged breath that was halfway to a sob leaving his chest. He was so useless. He didn’t even know how to be an Alpha, let alone a good one. All he ever seemed to do was say the wrong thing.

His room felt suddenly too small, like all the air had been sucked out of it and he couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t breathe.

He climbed out of bed, heart racing as he made his way down the hall. He knocked twice, perfunctorily, and then pushed open the door to Bucky and Nat’s room. It had been awhile since one of them had woken the other up in the middle of the night— usually after a nightmare— but it was hardly the first time.

“I can’t do this. Bucky? I can’t— I can’t do this.”

A muffled groan emerged from the bed as Steve stepped further into the room. Nat opened her eyes and appeared to be instantly awake, which was creepy no matter how many times Steve had seen it happen.

“Wake up,” she muttered shoving at Bucky’s good arm.

  
“Wassit?” Bucky mumbled, rubbing a hand over his face. 

  
“I win the bet. Steve’s having his existential crisis tonight.” Nat sat up more fully, propping the pillows behind her, and patted the bed for Steve to join them. 

  
Steve climbed onto the bed, still feeling a little shaky. But his heart rate was starting to slow, as if just being near them had some kind of magical calming effect. 

  
Bucky flopped over onto his back, opening his eyes and looking at Steve as he yawned, not bothering to cover his mouth. “What did Stark do? D’you need me to teach him a lesson?”

  
Nat rolled her eyes. “Oh, please. I would be so much better at that.”

  
“It’s me,” Steve blurted. “I’m the one who fucked up.”

  
“Highly doubt that,” Bucky retorted. 

  
“I brought up the— wedding.” Steve swallowed around the word. “And he didn’t take it well and I tried to calm him down, and he just went off.”

  
Nat tilted her head thoughtfully and reached out a hand to take one of Steve’s, lacing their fingers together. “Talking to Tony sounds like walking through a field of land mines. Hard for anyone to navigate.”

  
“Yeah. I don’t know that there’s any good way to bring up ‘hey, sorry you’re still mourning your dead husband, but can we plan our government-obligated wedding, please?’” Bucky added, pushing himself into more of a sitting position. 

  
“He said he didn’t want me to Dom him,” Steve said quietly, looking at where his and Nat’s hands were joined together. He couldn’t bear to see the pitying looks on their face. 

  
Alphas and Domming went so hand in hand that some people didn’t even consider them two separate things. It was one of the expected duties of an Alpha to care for their omega and help them let go. It was something that they both needed. 

  
Both Bucky and Nat were quiet for a long moment. And then Nat sighed. “You have to give him time,” she said, giving Steve’s hand a squeeze. “You’ve always been impatient to get the plan going. But he needs time. He’ll come around, though. You’ll see.”

  
“You’re a good Alpha, Steve.” Bucky’s voice was quiet but firm, a weight of certainty carried there. 

  
Steve looked up at Bucky then. “But am I a good Alpha for _him_?”

  
“The government says you are,” Nat said evenly. 

  
Bucky snorted and rolled his eyes. “Yeah, ‘cause the government's never wrong about anything. Always has our best interests at heart.” 

  
“I’m just saying...” Nat tilted her head thoughtfully. “You must have some level of compatibility. You scored high somewhere. You have something in common. You just need to find it.”

  
“Yeah? And what am I supposed to do with myself while we’re looking for it?” Steve replied.

  
“What any of us do.” Nat fixed him with a steady gaze. “The best you can.”

  
Steve nodded glumly. How did Natasha always manage to make everything sound so simple? This was climbing a mountain. It was reaching Everest. 

  
Bucky shifted over a little, making a space between him and Nat, seeming to sense what Steve needed. They had spent too many nights like this, with one or the other of them struggling to maintain sanity. But there was comfort here, something firm to hold onto, to keep his head above water. 

  
The panic had faded, and now just sorrow remained, empty like an endless sea welling up within him. 

  
Steve moved further up the bed and settled in between Bucky and Nat, who each cuddled close to him. It was a little too warm, but it was easy to drift off like that, surrounded by the tangible reminders of love. 

  
It was a bird chirping annoyingly close to the window that woke him. Steve yawned and stretched, accidentally bumping into Natasha, who muttered something in Russian and rolled over. 

  
It had to be just after dawn, but Steve still felt too keyed up from the night before to sleep any longer. As carefully as he could, he extricated himself from under Bucky’s arm and climbed out of the bed. 

  
After a quick trip to the bathroom and a quick trip to the kitchen for some water, Steve made his way back to his room, not wanting to disturb Bucky and Nat any further. 

  
The first thing he saw when he walked in was his phone lying forgotten on the bed. 

  
His stomach clenched, and he gripped his cup of water a little tighter. He let out a slow breath, and then forced himself to walk over and pick it up. He sat on the edge of the bed as he read through the series of messages Tony had sent over the last several hours. 

  
_Tony: Okay, maybe that was a little strong._   
_Tony: Should we add this to the list of things we don’t talk about?_   
_Tony: Oh, come on. I hate the silent treatment._   
_Tony: Just fucking text me back._

  
Steve scrubbed a hand over his face. He doubted Tony was even still up. 

  
_Steve: I’m sorry, I went to bed and stopped checking my phone._   
_Steve: I wasn’t intentionally giving you the silent treatment._

  
_Tony: Just unintentionally, then?_

  
Steve raised an eyebrow at the quick response, which came in only a moment after his own message. 

  
_Steve: Did you sleep at all?_

  
_Tony: Not your business, and not on the list of approved topics._   
_Tony: I’m sorry I was an asshole._   
_Tony: I don’t take back what I said, though._

  
Steve’s gut clenched again. Time. Give him _time_. He could hear Nat’s voice in his head. 

  
_Steve: It’s not something we need to worry about right now. We don’t have to talk about it._

  
_Tony: Oh._   
_Tony: Okay, then._   
_Tony: Sorry, I was all braced and ready for the big fight._   
_Tony: Gloves on and everything._

  
_Steve: No fighting. We’ve had enough of that already, and **I’m** tired, even if you’re going to pretend not to be. _

  
_Tony: You should sleep, then._   
_Tony: I might think about it, too._   
_Tony: Sleeping, that is._   
_Tony: Could be worth a shot._

  
_Steve: Could be. But no pressure, okay?_

  
_Tony: Yeah. Okay, yeah._   
_Tony: Thanks._

  
_Steve: You’re welcome._

  
_Tony: Do we still say goodnight if it’s five in the morning?_

  
_Steve: How about sweet dreams?_

  
_Tony: I don’t have those anymore._   
_Tony: You go on and have some for the both of us._

  
_Steve: Goodnight, Tony._

  
_Tony: Night, Steve._

  
Steve felt exhausted as he set his phone down on the nightstand, but also strangely at peace. However, that was a complicated set of emotions that he wasn’t ready to work out quite yet, so he settled for laying his head on the pillow, and closing his eyes in search of dreams. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Updates will be every week or every other week.


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